Stay with me Sway with me
by coffeeonthepatio
Summary: Nymphadora Tonks is a Hufflepuff 7th year who is attracted to her teacher. Severus Snape is a cold, curious bastard who wants to know what she really looks like. Is a student-teacher-relationship forbidden? Canon-compliant!
1. Chapter 1

_**I don't own any of the characters you might recognise and I don't make any money with this story. **_

_**I hope you like it and I ask for a review to know whether I should continue this. It is connected to my one-shot 'Sway'.**_

_**If I continue, the chapters will be longer. See this as a sort of Prologue.  
**_

_**.**_

He couldn't really tell how long this had been going on – him watching her, wondering about her.

The hair, the nose, the eyes. They were never the same twice. She had really figured out how to combine her features to entice him. How to be so beautiful.

And yes – he had taken her into his class. Despite her E in Potions. One exception he had made and he didn't remember why.

Well – he knew now. Had he known before? He wasn't sure.

But she was lovely. Despite the horrible t-shirts underneath the uniform – despite the humming of muggle songs, despite the hair, and the eyes. Despite the fact that he didn't know what she really looked like.

He had never made an exception.

Not that she was an E in Potions when one looked at her certificate.

It said E because he wanted it to be an E in Potions. It was an A at best. But he knew she was clumsy. He knew she didn't do it on purpose.

He knew she wanted to be an auror. Sprout had told him. She hadn't begged him to take her into his Potions class. But he had.

Why?

Simple answer, not so simple answer.

Because he was attracted to her.

To her blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, violet eyes, button nose, roman nose, greek nose, piggies nose. To her legs, longer, shorter.

And attracted to her mind – the funny, witty, loyal Hufflepuff mind.

Hufflepuff.

Who would have thought the Slytherin Head of House's favourite student would be a Hufflepuff? Nobody knew – technically. Minerva suspected. Pomona suspected. Nobody really knew.

Only because she didn't have detentions for him didn't mean she was his favourite.

Only because he helped her – invisibly – didn't mean she was his favourite.

And yet, if he searched himself, she was.

Clumsy girl.

Niece of his arch-enemy. Niece of Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix Black. Niece of Narcissa Malfoy, Narcissa Black.

Daughter of Andromeda Tonks – née Black.

That was sick, wasn't it?

Yes. And no.

She was lovely. And she stood up for everyone. Even for him. Ever since someone had started blurring his secrets, she had stood up for him, because she knew the truth – she knew he had been a spy – she knew because of her mother, her aunt, her other aunt.

Two of the three Black-Sisters didn't trust him.

The third did. And the niece did. She trusted him.

And it would prove to be his undoing. For a long, long time.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**.**_

Severus Snape absolutely detested the beginning of term. He disliked being sat on display when all those dunderheaded first years were sorted, he hated to eat in front of others.

And she was there. Of course she would be.

The summer had been nice and quiet. And he hadn't thought about it, about her. No, that was a lie. He had – while he worked on potions and the theory. While he had read, while Albus had forced him to go to the Three Broomsticks to have a drink, while Minerva made him take walks. Two people who couldn't leave him alone.

And he had thought about her and had chastised himself for doing that. Forbidden, forbidden, forbidden.

Two terms. One school year and then she was away.

Four advanced potions classes a week. How many weeks until the year was over? About 44? Two off at Christmas.

42 weeks – 4 hours a week. 168 hours. He could manage that. Keep his eyes away from her.

If only that would be easy. If only he could do it. But with the purple hair, the flashing eyes and the body – well hidden underneath the clothes – so hidden that he couldn't stop fantasising about it – it wasn't easy. Maybe if he could once, only once, see her – the real her, maybe then that would stop.

And maybe not.

Dirty old man. He was a dirty old man, plain and simple. Even if he was, right now, the youngest teacher at the school.

Even though Severus wasn't sure which idiot Albus had hired for the cursed Defence against the Dark Arts position. He just hoped he or she wasn't too incompetent. And to be honest, he wasn't that interested in the person.

That's why his eyes roamed the hall. There she was, with her friend Susie. Chatting quietly, pointing out the little first years. Two red-heads amongst them. He had heard. Twins. Weasley twins.

Well, as long as they were as studious as Percival. Or at least low-maintenance as William had been. As positively energetic as Charles. He would see.

But as all of them feared him to a certain extent, he knew that probably he would have little trouble with those twins – Fred and George – as Minerva had called them. And of course both had ended up in Gryffindor.

Well, they would fear him. Gryffindor was the House that feared him most. He smirked evilly and noticed too late that she had looked up at him.

She grinned. She didn't fear him at all. And why should she? He had never yelled at her, had never belittled her, never made fun of her.

He had liked her mother, he still did. Even though, for a long time, he had to hide it. Pretend to like her sisters. But now that Bellatrix was in Azkaban and Narcissa pretending to be a good witch, he could openly talk to Andromeda if he wished. Not that he had often had the opportunity to do so. He wasn't the person to be invited to big social dos and Andromeda wasn't the person to throw them.

She had been a beauty at school – or so he had heard – much like her sisters – and she – if he could see her once, once see behind the different noses, eyes and hair, he could judge. And then, maybe see how much she resembled her Aunt Bellatrix and forget this – whatever it was. Those feelings.

But no matter what she looked like, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Maybe if he knew the real her, he could.

And her gaze was apparently unwaveringly on him.

But with the Sorting over, the feast beginning, he could eat a little and then leave the Hall. He had no desire to be there at all. He would be in his office for a while – then go to his quarters but leaving the alert on for his little Slytherins (the first night was always the worst) – so they could come and get him should anything happen, read a bit, drink a bit and go to bed. Check his schedule again for the week ahead.

And he would notice, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he would have a double period with her in the morning. Not the first two lessons, thank Merlin (those were, if he remembered correctly First Years. That deserved a groan.) but straight after that. And he didn't know how he would react.

Nobody would see anything, of course. But it was her last year.

He shouldn't think about her at all.

And there she was, getting up from her seat, the purple hair changing to a light blue, the nose a bit longer.

He had never dared to ask her if she did it on a whim or if sometimes, it was just uncontrollable, changed with her moods. Come to think of it – he had never exchanged one personal word with her and still...

And what had it meant that she had burning red hair when she had – in her way – said hello just hours before when she had stumbled over a suit of armour and he hadn't dared to catch her. She had fallen unceremoniously on the floor – but she had grinned and winked up at him as he towered over her.

"Hello Professor Snape", she had said – her hair red and her eyes bright blue.

"Good evening Miss Tonks", he had replied and had turned around rapidly. He hadn't blushed since he had been a teenager but he feared that this girl might reduce him to it.

No, not really.

But he would make damn sure that she wouldn't ever be alone with him – and that she didn't have the chance to speak to him alone.

He had missed the end of the feast while observing the students, not only her, and she had left the Great Hall already.

Severus Snape nodded sharply at his colleagues and then left through the back door. He needed a stiff drink.

He didn't see anything but the walls surrounding him. He didn't have to look straight ahead – looking at the sides, in the corners was a lot more interesting. Maybe he could even break his record from the year before. Last year, it had taken him 4 hours after the feast before he had been able to take points. Maybe sooner this year. Gryffindor, preferably.

He didn't notice her standing right in the middle of the main corridor in the dungeons.

"Hiya Professor Snape!"

**.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**.**_

She had gotten to him – again. She had found him. And more than anything, Professor Severus Snape wanted to make a run for it.

He would only dream about what it would feel like to run his fingers through her hair., no matter what colour and his index down her nose, no matter what shape, down her cheek.

He shook himself to get rid of those very inappropriate thoughts and raised her eyebrows at her. "Yes, Miss Tonks?"

She still grinned, happily, he thought. She was down here on purpose, wasn't she?

"Professor Snape, I wanted to ask if maybe, you know, just maybe, I could use the...", she had begun to walk towards him and suddenly lost her footing.

Quite on impulse, his arms came to her rescue and he held her before she could fall. Nymphadora Tonks landed in his arms and he took a sniff of her hair, of her very being, before he even noticed what he was doing. It smelled like kiwi and pineapple. Quite the scent, he noted.

As soon as he noted that he held the girl longer in his arms than was strictly necessary, he pushed her, quite unceremoniously, away. She had blushed (and he found it suited her well) and stumbled almost over her own feet again before she looked at her shoes and cleared her throat.

"Yes?", he asked snarkily.

"What I was saying, and I really shouldn't move when I speak, seems multi-tasking is probably not my forte at all, was whether I could use the potions classroom."

"And why do you want to do that?", he asked her, afraid that she wanted remedial lessons – or wanted to spent even more time with him.

"I need a good enough grade for the Ministry to accept me as an Auror..."

He couldn't help but snort and oddly enough, she looked deviantly in his eyes, a gleam there that he hadn't seen before, determined.

"Yes, Professor Snape, an Auror", she repeated, "and it's not funny. I know that Potions is my weakest subject so I intend to get better."

He breathed deeply. She had probably no idea how weak she really was, assuming that she didn't realize he was silently helping her, vanishing ingredients she had on her bench and that certainly didn't belong into a potion they way she had prepared them. "You should ask the Headmaster about it. I will not, however, provide you with additional classes, Miss Tonks", he stated and with a whiff and a billow of his robes, he had walked past her.

And all he heard was a soft sigh.

.

Perverted old man. Not Dumbledore – though that infuriating old meddler had of course given Miss Tonks permission to use the classroom – but him. Because he stayed in the room with her when she brewed, at least most of the time.

He argued with himself that he was only there to ensure the intactness of his classroom but if he was being honest with himself, he didn't so much care about the safety of the room but about hers. Perverted old man.

Granted, not that old. And if he calculated correctly, he was only about 13 years older than she was, but – she was his student. She had been placed, more or less in his care and if someone, anyone, really, Pomona, or heaven forbid, Minerva, were ever to find out that he – what exactly? fancied her? liked her? fantasised about her? dreamt about her? wanted to be with her? - there was hell to pay. More than that. He would probably be castrated. There were a few not-so-nice hexes that would do just the job.

He was deep in thought – once again – as he was in the same room with her. Why? He couldn't understand what drew him to spend even more time with her. She had to get out of his head.

"Professor Snape?", she pulled him, quite effectively out of his musings, her hair an angry yellow.

"Miss Tonks?", he snarled, pretending to be bothered – which of course he wasn't. Not at all. He hadn't paid attention to her for one moment and she had probably spectacularly botched up that potion.

She grinned at him – even though she had tiny lines around her mouth – determination, probably – and spoke, her voice quite chipper. "The Debility Draught is not really meant to be this colour, is it?", she asked, pointing at her now, neon-yellow hair.

He growled and moved from his desk to the work-bench she was standing at and peering into the cauldron. "No", he snorted and bent to look into it.

What he hadn't thought about was his body and the fact that it would make contact with hers. It was only his arm brushing against hers when he picked up the stirring rod she had been using. He swallowed hard, then pulled back quite quickly.

"Silly girl", he muttered and with his wand, vanished the ugly-coloured mess and cleaned the stirring rod.

She giggled a bit and turned around. She shrugged. "I have no idea where I went wrong."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you insinuating I should? I have better things to do than to watch you wasting valuable ingredients."

"May I start again though?", she asked and she was making those big eyes – and she made them a light brown – golden flecks in them – and her hair a darker shade of brown.

He couldn't stop from wondering whether this was her real self – what she really looked like.

"Just do it", he ground out and remained standing behind her – close but not so close that he was touching her – or would touch her.

She chopped and mashed and diced and sliced and up to a certain point, she was doing everything right and then – suddenly, he noticed that she was stirring too quickly.

"No", he was behind her in a flash – and for the sake of the potion – he had taken her hand that was stirring in his and slowed her movements. Of course it was for the sake of the potion – his sake – no. Her back pressed against his chest and stomach, her soft hand in his, it did nothing to calm his nerves and he had to count to ten in his head. Slowly. Stirring slowly, breathing slowly.

He shouldn't lose control like this. Since when was Severus Snape losing control? No – that was something he didn't do.

He let go rather quickly and in the same moment, she turned and, for the first time that evening, she didn't have a happy expression on her face. She stared into his eyes deeply.

Severus Snape felt a pull – a strong pull towards his student. He didn't even notice the colour of said eyes – the expression they held were enough to make his breath hitch, to make him forget his surroundings, to make him forget about himself, about his position.

And he so wanted to kiss her.

_**.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_The usual disclaimers apply.  
_**

**_._**

It only took him a moment to notice that her face was coming closer and that she had closed her eyes.

Nymphadora – that was all his brain screamed and he couldn't bring himself to push her away. He couldn't, he simply couldn't.

And a moment later – just the blink of an eye, no less – he felt her soft lips on his and his eyes closed on their own accord.

Her lips – so soft on his, moving gently against his and he couldn't stand the pressure. He opened his mouth slightly and she did – at the same moment – the same. Their tongues clashed, fought against the other, entangled and he knew that nothing in his life could probably top this moment.

That – that was when his head set back in and he pushed her off – roughly. She fell against the workbench and stared at him wide-eyed for a moment.

"You better go now, Miss Tonks", he said – his voice foreign to his own ears. So raspy, so husky, so low.

She sighed, licked her lips (oh, what a sight), and her hair, he noted, had sometime during their kiss turned a bright purple. She nodded slowly.

"Don't think this is it, Severus Snape", she said softly, grinned and skipped out of the room. She seemed so happy. Exuberant.

He sank on one of the stools at the bench. Running his fingers through his hair, he felt the urge to scream loudly. Just to scream until the walls shattered. But he couldn't. He had to get a grip on himself.

One moment, one tiny moment of lack of control. Tomorrow – tomorrow he could pretend that nothing had happened. And he would.

.

The only problem was that he couldn't forget it, that he couldn't pretend. That every time he closed his eyes, he could see her face in front of his, he could feel her lips against his. Every single time he closed his eyes. Every damn single bloody time.

What could he do?

Minerva eyed him suspiciously already – but then again, she always did. And Albus, the other night, when they had tea and a talk, he had made an odd comment.

"Severus, my boy", he had said, "I think you deserve some happiness."

That comment – the old, odd, omnipresent codger – what did it mean? He hadn't treated her differently. Like always, he had taken great precautions that she didn't melt her cauldron – just so he wasn't obliged to give her detention.

But he couldn't – no matter what the headmaster said, no matter how many looks she shot him during meals and during classes – give in to the temptation.

He couldn't. He just couldn't.

And today, she had seemed to have understood. She didn't laugh and giggle before class, when she came in with her fellow Hufflepuffs the way she usually did. She looked even a bit subdued – her hair a mousy, almost greyish brown, hanging limply around her shoulders. She tied it back before she started a fire underneath her cauldron and she didn't look at him once. Not once.

She looked up from time to time to read the instructions or just to get her eyes out of the fumes and when she did, he could catch a glimpse of her. Her eyes were watery (the fumes – most likely) but there were dark circles around her eyes, somehow and she looked so sad.

He couldn't be the reason for this, could he?

Granted, he hadn't paid any attention to her whatsoever. Even when she had said hello, every time, he just nodded his head sharply and then had disappeared.

He hadn't done anything. Except maybe that that exactly was the problem. Pushing a woman away without saying a single word after she had just kissed him – not that gentlemanly.

He snorted inwardly. No, he had never been a gentleman. He couldn't be.

His eyes scanned his classroom and they were all working frantically. Except her. She just stared into the mess that was probably in her cauldron and twirled a strand of her hair around her finger.

"Miss Tonks!", he said sharply, surprising himself.

She looked up in surprise and there was no doubt in his mind. Hurt.

"Are you planning on a zero or will you finish the potion?", he sneered. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't.

Her eyes widened and she gasped. Then, she seemed to have caught herself.

"I'm not the only one who's not finishing what they're starting", she looked at him almost deviantly and her hair turned the violent shade of purple it had right after the kiss.

No, he couldn't help it. Anything else for that cheek would be considered weakness. "Miss Tonks", he bellowed, "ten points and detention!"

_**.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**.**_

He had tried – he really had. But none of the other teachers (and neither Hagrid nor Filch) could possibly oversee his detention with her that night.

He was almost certain that she had provoked him to eventually give her detention. And he was almost ready to cancelling it. And yet – the girl was compelling. Interesting. Beautiful – or she could be.

He laced his fingers together and put his hands on the desk. A minute until her detention was supposed to begin and here he was still thinking about her. Instead of being busy with someone. Rapidly, he pulled some essays from a stack, unscrewed the ink bottle and began getting to work. Dunderheaded idiots.

There was a knock on the door and his heart thumped in his chest. Damn girl.

He said nothing – students knew they were supposed to just come in – if the door was open. And it was. And there she was – blonde today, with blue eyes and a button nose. She looked almost like the muggle doll – Barbie – that Petunia had always played with.

"Cauldrons", he said silkily, trying not to let his voice quiver – even though – this wasn't the sort of woman he liked. Not at all. Too busty.

"Good evening Professor Snape", she merely smiled and nodded.

Snape raised his eyebrow and then looked back down at his essays. Percy Weasley. Too straight from the books. No own thoughts. Nothing original. An A at best.

"Professor Snape?", she asked, her arm stuck to the elbow in a cauldron.

"Yes?", he drawled, pretending to be bored. And it wasn't too difficult. That wasn't the Nymphadora he knew. That was a beach-bunny from somewhere.

"I'm sorry about, erm, you know...", she looked straight at him.

"You know? No, I'm sure I don't know." Provoking her. Making her run out. Take points from her and let this detention end – letting her serve it with someone else.

She seemed to breath, then suddenly, she was brunette and had a longer nose and very dark eyes. And not so busty any more. "It was the best kiss I've ever gotten", she looked intently at him. "I'll never forget it. Not matter what you say."

She was frank – he had to admit that. And had to admit that it was one of the best kisses he had ever gotten as well. At least in the last 10 years or so. No, ever. He looked at her – deeply – and decided that he liked her better this way. Looking like that.

But she had already turned her attention back to the cauldron when he started speaking – or someone who sounded like him. "What do you really look like?"

Her head shot up, her eyes wide. Her chest heaved and there was not even the slightest hint of a smile on her features.

"What do you mean?", she asked voicelessly.

He blinked twice and got up. There was nothing he could do. He walked up to her, focusing on her. "What do you look like when you don't change anything."

He came to a halt on the other side of the workbench – standing directly opposite her. "Boring", she whispered and scrubbed the cauldron with new vigour.

He pressed his thin lips together and his hand moved to hers, covering it as she was holding onto the bench. "Please? I want to see you."

She shook her head barely perceptibly and continued to clean.

"Nymphadora", he whispered.

She looked up slowly, and though her eyes might not her natural colour, the expression in them seemed very real – confusion. She closed her eyes and suddenly, there was a smaller girl standing on the other side of the bench. Sandy-dirty-brown-blonde hair, mid-back, wavy. Her cheekbones were higher, a little more pronounced than before, her lips thinner, not as thin as his, however.

"Open your eyes."

She did and the effect was puzzling. Her face had been a bit plain – but with those huge amber eyes. They were still full of expression but her face were dominated by those eyes.

"Beautiful", he heard himself say and her eyes changed. The confusion was replaced by – he wasn't sure what. Hurt? That couldn't be. He had just paid her a compliment, hadn't he? "What...", he asked.

She clenched her jaw and shook her head – and immediately was back to the brunette with dark eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?", he snarled. "Do you think this is prettier than you really are?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Of course."

"Not at all", he argued. "This looks artificial."

"It is", she argued back.

"See? Change back."

"No", she cried.

"Please", he urged and quickly moved around the bench and stood right behind her, his chest touching her back slightly.

"Why?", she asked.

"Because I want to see you as you when I kiss you", he explained in her ear, his breath tickling her.

She turned around and suddenly, was shorter – forced her to look up. "Like that?"

"Yes", he replied huskily and moved his hand to her long tresses of hair. It was silky soft and made him card his fingers in it, let them run through it.

"I look like me", she smiled a little insecurely, "so will you kiss me now?"

He growled – and immediately bent down, capturing her lips with his, kissing her as if there was no tomorrow. And maybe there wasn't. If someone came in now, when his hands roamed her back and she stood on her tiptoes, pressed slightly against the workbench, her hands on the back of his neck and on his cheek, her fingers caressing his ear.

It was her who broke the kiss – panting heavily. "Don't send me away again", her voice was low.

He shook his head. "I can't. As much as I should, I can't", he replied, huskily, and kissed her once more. Realizing that it grew sweeter the more he did it.

_**.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**.**_

There was a knock in his door – a soft knock and he knew just who it was.

Minerva's knocks were forceful. She basically banged on the door when she wanted to be let in. Albus always drummed a little sequence on his door – and hummed to it.

There was probably only one person who knew now exactly where his private rooms where and who would knock so softly – almost timidly.

He smiled to himself – the only person he looked forward to meeting. Like she had done during the last couple of nights. Every night. For two weeks.

He pointed his wand towards the door – not caring that he was only wearing trousers and a shirt, she had seen him in less after all – and opened it by magic.

She was disillusioned, a charm he had taught her during their first morning together so she could get back to her dorm. He had never kept a woman in his bed for the night, and worse, he had never fallen asleep with one in his arms – much less had woken up with one in his arms. But with her, it seemed so simple.

Vivacious girl, and smiling was the first thing she did in the morning. And smiling was the last thing she did at night.

They were two poles – him the negative one, her the positive one and they, unlikely though it might seem for everyone who knew those two – were drawn to one another. Inexplicably.

And she knew exactly that he expected to see the real her – not some form of her, not a long nose, not a button nose, not blue hair, green hair, pink hair, purple hair. Her eyes, not blue, not brown, not hazel, not black. Hers. Besides, her smile was so much more radiant when it was the real her and not the image of some other woman.

"Hello", she said gently, taking the charm off. "I know you said not to come here tonight but..."

"But?", he asked, remaining in his chair.

"I missed you", she almost squealed and before he knew it, he had a lap full of witch (stupid him to leave a stack of books just in front of the chair where he was sitting, of course she would be stumbling over it and he would have to catch her), two arms slung around his neck. She pressed her lips against his and kissed him hungrily.

"You really missed me", he stated, and couldn't help the warm feeling that began in his stomach and warmed his entire body inside out – it wasn't the all consuming heat he usually felt with her, the need to touch her, to feel her, but rather the want to hold her like this, sit with her, talk to her. She was a witty girl, a bit clumsy, but smart, even if...

"You hide it behind the looks. Behind the metamorphmagus", he said suddenly. "You're..."

"What?", she asked, clearly not understanding what he was talking about. "Severus, what are you talking about?"

"Nobody knows you're intelligent because you chose to hide it", he was surprised. He had never thought of it that way but now that he said it, it was clear as day.

She smiled and shook her head. "I don't think I'm that intelligent."

"You're one of the best in my class", he stated. "You have very good grades in all important classes. McGonagall thinks you're bright. Everyone does."

She still shook her head, grinning. "You're only saying this because..."

"No. Because here, you're you. And you cannot hide", he pulled her tight to himself, her side pressed against his chest, her legs on his thighs, her feet dangling a couple of inches off the ground.

She laughed. "You're hallucinating. But it's nice of you to say."

"I'm never hallucinating. And I never pay compliments. I'm merely stating the truth."

Nymphadora Tonks giggled and pulled her feet up after having slipped off her shoes. "I like sitting here with you", she whispered softly, staring off into the flames he had lit just moments before she had arrived.

"And you're changing the subject, Nymphadora", he nuzzled her hair with his nose.

"Don't call me that", she admonished lightly.

"It's your name, isn't it?", he complained – his tone, thankfully, still light.

"I don't like it at all", she sulked, her mouth deliciously pouting.

He kissed the pout right off her face, so deeply that he felt her shaking slightly in his arms and that after a few moments, he needed to break the kiss off. It was too breathtaking to be kissing her like that.

"You could call me Tonks", she offered, her eyes somehow still a little unfocused.

"I cannot call you Tonks. It's your last name. I call you Miss Tonks in class. You call me Severus when you're here – and everything else would probably be inappropriate considering what we're doing – and it would most certainly be odd if you started calling me Snape, don't you agree?", he asked silkily.

She groaned but closed her eyes in contentment. "But not Nymphadora", she said softly, "nobody but you calls me that anyway."

"That makes it special", he smirked and kissed her brow. "Now, that settles it."

"It doesn't", she argued.

"It does. Can we go back to the topic?"

"Which was?", she blinked, looked up at him and, sighing, leaned back at him. "I'm not that smart, Severus. It's just that nobody cares what's behind the funny noses and colourful hair..."

"Colourful", he snorted. "The times you distracted your classmates with the colour of you hair..."

She sighed. "It doesn't matter. Honest, it doesn't", she replied drowsily.

Running his fingers through her hair gently, he inhaled her scent (which, he knew, was always the same – no matter what she looked like). "Why did you really come down here?"

She seemed startled by the question – had almost slept. "Dint sleep last night. Missed being with you."

He raised his eyebrows. He hadn't slept well either. But she couldn't very well spent every night at his quarters, in his bed, could she? No, that wouldn't be prudent at all. "But you have to get back to your dorm anyway, Nymphadora. It wouldn't do at all for the Headmaster or anyone else to find out you were here."

She hummed softly but said nothing else.

"Nymphadora?", he nudged her gently but she still only sighed and didn't answer. "Are you asleep?"

"Mhm", she replied.

"Silly girl", he whispered affectionately, picked her up and – she didn't even make a sound to that – carried her to his bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.

For someone to trust him like this – so much – it almost swept him off his feet (of course, him being him, it was really just almost), to fall asleep in his presence, no, to come to him to being able to sleep – that, frankly, gave him a feeling that he wouldn't want to miss for anything in the world.

On the other hand, he knew he had to enjoy the time he had. Come summer, she would go off – and his time with her would end. Definitely.

_**.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**.**_

On the other hand, he was amazingly glad that she was what and who she was. A Metamorphmagus. Because, well, two reasons.

He was, as far as he could judge, the only one who did see the real her and that gave him a feeling of privilege and something special and then, the more obvious reason: she never was herself, not the Nymphadora he knew during class.

In class, she was Miss Tonks – and did look like Miss Tonks, not Nymphadora. Not his Nymphadora.

It made it simpler for him (sometimes, however, he did wonder how she managed it – trying to separate Severus from Professor Snape – but she did admirably) and he had no qualms about being his usual self (his usual Professor-self that was) to her. She got a good tongue-lashing once in a while (especially when she was so clumsy that she caused another vial of something dangerous to fall on the fall) and she did not even seem to mind.

Maybe it was quite selfish of him. But then again, she knew exactly (because she had asked one morning when they had both been up way too early to be actually getting up and she lay in his arms, tracing a pattern over his chest with her fingertip what kind of women he absolutely detested) what she was supposed to look like when in his class as to not provoke him with her looks.

So usually, when she was in Potions, she was a very busty, tall woman with a thin nose and full lips, her hair wild and either blonde or an atrocious colour. And she apparently tried her best not to change during class.

And he was immensely grateful – just because he had found out (one morning not so long ago when he had watched her sleep) that he was falling in love with her. Falling hard and falling fast. And by the time he had realised this – he had already been in love. Too late to do anything about it, even though he knew that it would end. He would probably have to end it.

Because, well, she was young, pretty (or at least could be when she was trying to be her own, real self) and deserved something other than a lanky, greasy, boring (and my was he glad that his life was so boring at the moment – deeply grateful was probably a better expression) teacher. He tried to imagine their life after school.

And found himself clueless as to what she had planned. And it wasn't even six months until the end of the school year. He made a mental note to ask.

.

"Hey!" she whispered softly after she had dis-disillusioned herself. She was herself once more (and looked a lot better than she had that morning in class) and smiled at him happily.

He merely nodded and opened his arms a little – her cue to rush right him, lay her head against his chest and wrap her arms around his waist. "Your day okay?"

"Your day okay? Nymphadora, what kind of language is that?" he asked, slightly grumpily. Damn Headmaster. Made his life hell sometimes. All those idiotic ideas.

She giggled. "I was asking how your day was, Severus. Was your day okay?"

He grumbled and moved – with her in his arms – to a nearby armchair, sitting down gracefully and pulling her on his lap. "My day was, as you might say, less than okay because our beloved Headmaster is a bit of a loony. Your language, not mine."

She sighed and settled a little closer and more comfortably against him. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," he sighed and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Nymphadora..."

Apparently she had gotten used to hearing her name from his lips – she smiled beautifully and looked up at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"What is it you want to do after school?" he asked, holding her tightly to him, like he never wanted to let her go. Sometimes, he truly wanted to keep her down there in the dungeons with him. No matter what the consequences.

"Auror," she said decisively.

"An auror? Nymphadora, you're the clumsiest person I know. You have to..."

"Oh shut it, Severus," she glared angrily. "So? I can change my appearance on a whim," she added and suddenly he had the girl from Potions on his lap.

"Change back," he commanded.

"So, if I'm clumsy, I'm still top of the class in Defence and one of the best in Potions and Transfiguration," she said fiercely – turning back into her own self, "you said so yourself."

He nodded slowly. "It's dangerous."

Her features softened and she rewarded him a little smile. "You're awfully protective, aren't you?"

He swallowed – yes, that he was and...

"I know about it, you know," she said softly and pointed at his left forearm. "But y..."

He pushed her off his lap and glared at her. "Out."

"Don't be so dramatic, Severus," she shook her head disapprovingly. "I trust you, apparently the Headmaster trusts you, otherwise you wouldn't be here. I can do the maths as well. You were not even twenty when you-know-who died."

He was stumped. A reasonable woman – when had he ever come across one. "You don't..."

"I don't what?" she asked gently and pushed him back down in the chair, planting herself on his lap again. "I don't care, no. It doesn't matter to me. Past is past."

"It can't be that simple," he muttered.

"It is that simple. But if you want to make up for something, you could take me dancing," she winked.

"Dancing? Nymphadora, do you listen to yourself?"

She laughed and kissed him on the tip of his large nose. "Yes. Severus, for the sake of all the wizards and witches in the world, don't you see?"

"See what?" he asked puzzled.

She bent forward and her lips graced his earlobe. "I'm in love with you."

He swallowed. Words he had never heard before. Never in all his life. And those words had an effect on him that he couldn't describe. A warm, fuzzy feeling inside, sweaty palms and immediately, his arms tightened around her waist again and his nose was suddenly buried in her hair.

He wanted to say something – but the right words didn't come to him. Even though – he did feel the same way, didn't he? But with those words, she had taken the wind out of his sails. Completely.

"I'll take you dancing if you don't look like yourself. We'll be in trouble with the Headmaster and your parents and the Board if..."

He couldn't finish his sentence when instead, she covered his lips with hers and engaged him in a deep kiss.

_**.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**.**_

He could not, would not, take her dancing. It was all nice and lovely when they were in his chambers, his rooms alone. But Severus knew that he could not possibly go dancing with her – just because, even if everything was quiet at the moment, didn't mean that he could be seen with a strange woman (even if she changed her appearance). It would draw attention to her, to him, it would be considered a weakness – and he tried hard not to show these.

But – after all, he had promised. And he was a man of his promises, usually. But this was one – no, he couldn't possibly hold.

More than two weeks – and she hadn't nagged about the dancing. But she had insinuated things, had danced in front of him (with lovely results in his bed), had worn dancing shoes one night (with lovely results in his bed) but openly, she hadn't said anything.

Only – she had said something. She had said that she wanted to be close and with school in session – they only could do so much, could only spent so much time together. Besides, he was certain that their time was limited. He would end it – had to. Sooner or later.

The Dark Lord would be coming back – and he was no Lucius Malfoy. He was no Kingsley Shacklebolt. He had to play both sides. And playing both sides took probably twice the time, and most certainly twice the effort than being clearly on one side. And a woman in his life would not only cause make him weak, or would give others the possibility to wound him – because, after all, he did like Nymphadora a lot – even though he didn't really call the feeling love – but it was also a massive distraction. He was even distracted now. Couldn't concentrate on the seventh year lessons, couldn't concentrate when he thought about her and that was often. Even if she only spent two nights, or sometimes only one night a week with him. And always left before the morning. Left him to doze – and went to her own bed. He preferred it that way as well.

And still – he knew she was in love with him. And wanted to be with him (and was probably even secretly making plans for a future). Though why – he wasn't sure. He wasn't likeable – even though he did think that maybe with her, he did make an effort. Not consciously, obviously, but she usually just came in, perched on his lap, kissed him and he couldn't very well shove her off and tell her to go mind her own business – and to her own bed. No, he couldn't. Besides, she never asked about his past. They never talked about his past. They never really talked about him that much – they talked about her school-mates, about her classes, he talked a little about his classes. Then, someone would start the kissing and that was basically the end of the conversation, except for, well, a few words moaned or grunted here and there. His name was said once in a while and he enjoyed it – it rolled off her tongue, it was a sensual word when she whispered it, instead of the cold, harsh syllables they usually were.

.

And there she was, sitting on the floor, writing her Transfiguration essay, once in a while looking up and smiling at him, while he sat in a chair, his legs crossed and reading. It struck him, suddenly, as quite domesticated. And that couldn't be good. She wasn't supposed to get used to this kind of thing, really.

And he wasn't supposed to enjoy watching her work. But he did, oddly enough. He most certainly did. The way her hair curtained around her face – the way she pushed it back – and at the same time, grinned at him, sweetly.

"I'll be done in a moment," she said softly.

He nodded quickly. "But don't hurry on my account. Finish it decently. I always dislike it when students rush their conclusions."

She chuckled. "I never rush my conclusions," she replied, winking.

A moment later, she was crawling towards him. "And how was your day?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Same old, same old."

"No students giving you trouble?"

"Apart from the Weasley twins, no."

"Those again? They're only first years. How much damage can they do?" she laughed, and moved her hand up his leg.

"You have no idea," he caught her hand – and suddenly, he had the first romantic idea in his life. Probably.

He pulled her up on her feet and into his arms.

"What are you going?" she whispered when he waved his wand, then let it disappear into his sleeve again. A moment later, soft tunes were in the air.

"Taking you dancing," he whispered into her ear – and felt the goosebumps on her arms immediately.

He wrapped her a little tighter in his arms then and moved slowly to the rhythm of the music.

"Severus," she whispered softly, his hands on his neck, caressing the skin with her fingers.

"You're very beautiful like this," he answered gently – surprising himself.

She blushed and hid her face in his neck. "I'm not," she answered muffled against his cheek.

"Fishing for compliments, Nymphadora?"

"I like the way you say my name," she swayed with him to the music. "And I like the way you dance."

He smiled a little – but hid it in her hair and slowly lead her around the room. There was no need to talk. He could feel her snuggling close to him, enjoying being with him – enjoying this very intimate moment.

And so – oddly, did he.

Swaying around like this with her was a very pleasurable experience. Something he hadn't done before. And suddenly, he could see why she wanted to go dancing with him.

.

She ran a hand lightly over his bare chest, playing gently with the sparse black here, pressing a kiss against his skin once in a while, one of her legs between both of his, moving up and down slowly.

"Severus?" she asked softly, her chin on his chest, looking up at him.

"Yes, Nymphadora?" he drawled, letting his hand travel lower on her back, the soft, warm skin feeling wonderfully against his fingertips.

"I love you," she said suddenly, rushed, blushing.

He drew a shaky breath. Then nodded. Just nodded. And couldn't say anything back. Instead, he pulled her up further and kissed her passionately. He pushed the her words – after letting them roll through his mind for a moment – to the back of his head. And just kissed her.

It took her a fair few minutes until she pulled away, looking adorable. She sighed. "I should go. Don't want anyone finding out." She sat up, but a second later, his arms were around her once more, his chin on her shoulder.

His lips were on the shell of her ear, and he whispered. "Stay with me tonight, Nymphadora."

_**.**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**.**_

The end of the year was approaching fast. She spent almost every night studying in his quarters – telling him it was quieter there, not the mess the Hufflepuff common room was – according to her. It had probably nothing to do with the fact that he could answer almost every single question he had, and even less with the fact that she had told him that she loved him.

That – he didn't doubt for one second. He knew she did. But she was a Hufflepuff after all. They did love. It was what they did – what defined them, partly.

But he enjoyed her being there – despite everything. Even though, he knew it would end. He would end it. He would hurt her and yes, he disliked the fact but it was what was necessary. Her dalliance with him – that had been necessary as well. She had needed that. Away from people her own age, being with him had matured her greatly. She was calmer in class – wasn't sporting the hideous pink, blue or purple hair any more and even though she did reduce showing her real looks to him – and only him – she wasn't trying to get some attention by extreme appearances any more. He liked to think that it had been partly his doing. But maybe she had just grown up a little.

Maybe.

But she was still sitting on the floor to his feet, sometimes running her hand up his leg, underneath his trousers, sometimes getting up, walking around the room, and ending up with her revision notes on his lap, asking him one thing or another. One night, she had painted a Transfiguration chart on his chest to revise.

"Severus?" she asked now, pacing in his living room.

"Yes, Nymphadora?" he asked back – and using her first name deliberately. She had told him that she really disliked it usually. That everyone who said it said it wrong – that he was the only one who made it sound nice. And that nobody but him and her mother when she was angry was allowed to say it at all.

"Roostisky's cure on Dragon Pox fell through why?" she asked, a frown now ever-present on her face.

"Because it didn't work. The Dragon Pox did disappear but...Nymphadora," he paused to look at her and when she stared out of his enchanted window, he got up and moved behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. "it won't be asked during NEWTs."

"What?" she asked, turning around in his arms, "how do you...oh. Should you be telling me that?"

"No. But you're making me nervous with your pacing and your revising and there's no need to learn about Roostisky. He was an idiot anyway," he replied softly and kissed her on the forehead. "Will you now stop studying?"

She laughed, snuggling closer, nuzzling his neck. "I might be persuaded," she grinned and her warm, little hands moved to the back of his neck and caressed it, small circles with her fingers.

"What with?" he whispered seductively in her ear.

"Mh," she pulled back slightly and stared in his eyes, "a kiss?"

"Just a kiss?" he asked and before he could say more, she had pulled him down and kissed him gently, softly on his lips, prying them open, slipping her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss and backing him towards the bedroom and soon, pushing him onto the bed, straddling him.

"This is what would stop me studying," she replied, her voice husky and deep.

The sex with her was extraordinary – maybe because she was in love with him and, as far as he knew, he never had sec with someone who had been in love with him. Still – he wasn't sure whether he felt the same way. He liked her, felt a certain kind of affection and enjoyed the time he had with her, the vivaciousness he brought to his life – that was so foreign to him. The life she lived to the fullest.

And she was all there – her mind, all her concentration when they were in situations like this, was on him – the clothes she needed to shed – the way she undressed him as if she was unwrapping a precious gift. Moments like this took his breath away and he knew that he couldn't give her what she deserved. A teacher in a school – a position that gave him little time for a life outside of Hogwarts, the ever-looming threat of the return of the Dark Lord. No, he hadn't vanished completely – he couldn't have. The mark was still there. Pale – but visible. And this was most certainly not what she deserved. She deserved a loving man by her side – someone who could give her all that she needed, all she wanted.

And it wasn't him. As much as that would hurt her on the short run, it would be best.

All clear thought was knocked from his head when she straddled him – her lips on his chest.

.

"Severus?" she asked, once more as she lay half on top of him. It was a habit of hers, that post-coital talk. She knew he was relaxed then, and that she could ask him most anything – and that he would, most likely, answer.

"Nymphadora?" he replied drowsily.

"What happens after NEWTs?"

He took a deep breath and tried to shake the almost overwhelming urge to fall asleep away. "I believe you said you wanted to be an Auror," he replied, trying not to yawn – his hand stroking her hair.

"Yes, I do," she replied and pushed herself away from him – up on her elbows. "But, I mean – you know – this?" she pointed at him and then herself. "Us."

He groaned and sat up. "What do you think?"

"What do you mean what do I think?" she asked irritably – covering her naked body with his blanket.

"I was merely asking what you think," he replied, slightly angrily.

"I was asking you. What will happen to us. To this?"

He looked at her. "I doubt _this_ will have a future."

_**.**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**.**_

"You don't mean that, do you?" she asked, staring down at him.

"I do," he replied coldly.

He knew it had hurt her – but just as well. Now – or in a few weeks – it didn't – shouldn't make a difference. Not for her, not for him. Definitely not for him. And she, well, she would be hurt for a while but then she would realise that it was for the best, really. This thing did not have a future. Certainly not.

"Severus, you can't mean that. It's...I thought we had something."

"Had being the operative word," he replied.

"Are you insane?"

"I'm not insane, Nymphadora. But you can't have thought that this was a long-term relationship?"

She clasped her hand over her mouth and suddenly, her hair turned black and stringy and oily and her eyes the darkest brown. "I had thought that," she replied very quietly and got up from the bed. "You're ending this after sex?"

He shrugged. Yes, it was hard – and probably unfair – and even more probably tactless – but she had asked, hadn't she?

"Yes," he said simply.

She shook his head, staring down at him, then, quite suddenly, lunging at him and kissing him – hard, passionate, hurt, her tongue tangling in his, her hand almost brutal on his chest, her fingernails digging into his skin.

"Take that, then," she replied, and he could hear the tears threatening to fall – even if he couldn't see them in the eyes that weren't hers. She turned around quickly, picked up her clothes from the floor but instead of just putting them on, she merely pulled her robes over her head and stuffed the rest, shrunk, in the pockets of her robes. "I can't believe this. Here I am, stupid girl, falling for you – and you push me away? I can't believe this."

"You better do," he replied, his voice taking on the quality it usually had in his classroom.

"Good bye, Severus," she said softly – and just before she turned to go – he could see a tear dropping from her lashes and more, like raindrops, gathering on them.

He lay there, naked, sated, and at the same time, very empty inside. He had just ended the probably best thing that had happened to him in a long time. But it was never meant to be. Never should have been in the first place.

It was for the best. He knew.

.

The last few weeks of term passed quickly – but Nymphadora – no, Miss Tonks, never showed her face in his class. In fact, he didn't see her until he had to watch the entire NEWTs course taking their exam. She was still sitting there, writing, knowing that there were no questions about dragon pox. She looked pale – despite her blondeness and her fake tan and those blue eyes.

No, in fact it wasn't his Nymphadora – oh, what was he saying? - Miss Tonks sitting there. It was just a random student. Could have been anyone. Just anyone – not the woman screaming his name in passion – forgetting herself. It just wasn't the same and he didn't mind it at all, seeing her like this. It made it simpler.

Even though, he did know that the blonde, blue-eyed girl with the tan would get good results in her Potions NEWTs. And she would go and get into Auror training. And she would be good at that. He just knew.

.

He sat in his office – and there was a knock on his door. Not the best moment there could be. He was just correcting the final exams of the rest of the years, first, second, third, fourth, and sixth. Difficult enough – and enough word.

But he basically bellowed a 'come in'. Not that he could explain why his mood was so bad – it just was. And the _poor_ Gryffindors were suffering. Poor things.

"I wanted to say good bye," the same blonde said softly, now standing in his office, in front of his desk.

"And who are you?" he replied coldly.

"Damn Severus," she sighed and turned back into herself – her own, beautiful self.

"Oh, you Miss Tonks."

"So it's Miss Tonks now," she snorted. "A few weeks ago, you were grunting Nymphadora."

"Is that what you have to say?"

"No, I said I wanted to say good bye."

"I believe you have," he sneered. "I have work to do."

She shook her head – sadly. "Yes – I can see that."

"So?"

"Good bye, Severus," she said softly – and after a moment, changed into a heart-shaped young girl – pretty, not beautiful, not stunning. And outrageously coloured hair.

"Good bye, Miss Tonks," he said, his eyes back on the parchments. This was not Nymphadora. This was, in fact, someone he didn't know.

"I'm sorry you can't love," she whispered before she closed his door gently.

_**.**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**.**_

"Don't call me Nymphadora," she said angrily and he can't help but look at her.

The first time in years – years – that he saw her – and she still wore that ridiculous face of that heart-shaped pretty girl, not the beautiful young woman he once knew. The first time – and of course it had to be during those times – dark times. The Dark Lord – terrorising their world again. And she – part of the order.

Severus Snape found himself sitting at a large table – in a large building in London. Grimmauld Place. Bloody house of the bloody Blacks. And of course she was there. But not looking like the girl he once knew.

Not even the expression in her eyes is the same again. Determined – not loving. Determined – not hateful, spiteful. No – she's not the same any more.

But is he? No. He had put her in the back of his head – had tried to forget about her. About her, studying in his quarters, about her, smiling, laughing, moaning, whispering his name. And – he almost had succeeded. Almost.

Until – until he saw her again with that ridiculous face that everyone believed was her own – but isn't. It isn't her face. It's a mask, he knew.

"Miss Tonks," he said coldly – knowing that she despised her first name now even more.

"Professor Snape," she replied and didn't even look at him.

He wished, truly wished, to tell her to go home – lock herself away somewhere, be away from the fighting, from the dying that will – doubtlessly – occur. But he couldn't. She was not his responsibility any more.

Probably never had been.

"Nymphadora," Mad-Eye Moody said from somewhere and she her temper was rising again.

He had known she was detesting that name – but hadn't she always said that she liked the way he said it – whispered it – grunted it when the passion overtook him? When she overtook him? When she ruled over his body and his mind and his thoughts and everything that had been him?

No – he shook his head and took a sip of his tea. This was not the Nymphadora he had known. This was a cold woman, someone who could hold her own in a fight.

And he wondered, the cup on his lips, whether he had something to do with the fact that she hated her first name even more.

_**.**_

_**Done. Sorry this is not a happy ending. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Chop my head off, if you must but review first!**_


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